The little pine tree was pretty, even without its decorations. Charlotte put the last one into a small box and touched the top of the tree. “Thank you.” She carried the box inside, then made coffee and returned to the balcony.
For the next week or so, the bookshop was closed, so Charlotte intended to spend time painting up here, exploring the back yard, and going through the storeroom in the garage. Something told her the contents of that room held all sorts of secrets.
Kingfisher Falls would return to its sleepy self, now that the Christmas tree thief—or thieves—were under lock and key, even if the mastermind was yet to be discovered.
Charlotte leaned against the railing and stared out over the town. So quiet now, the day after Christmas, but so much intrigue bubbling away beneath the
